Fever
by bourbon
Summary: Love is like malaria... What happens when the fever returns? A winter warmer. WJ pairing. Chapter 5 up.
1. Chapter 1

She watched him admiringly as they dressed in silence, and he straightened his tie in the mirror. He caught her reflection and winked.

"Zip me up, would you?" she said and turned her back to him. He obliged, and let his rough fingers rest briefly on her bare shoulders when he finished.

"You look gorgeous," he whispered and nibbled at her earlobe.

"You scrub up pretty good yourself, Pollack." She turned to him then and draped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

It was comfortable, this. Wasn't that what it was all about? Comfortable? Someone to eat popcorn with on Friday nights? Someone to zip up your little black dress?There was the bedroom, too, of course, she thought to herself as he ran his hands through her chestnut waves. She had missed that, the touch of another human being in the dark hours. This was _right_, wasn't it? This was _good_.

She broke the kiss and backed away with an apologetic half-smile. "Look, I'm sorry I had to drag you to this thing. It's the office Christmas party, and I'm expected to make an appearance. You really didn't have to come."

"What? And miss the opportunity to be seen on the arm of the prettiest M.E. in Boston?"

"Don't let Nigel hear you say that. I'm pretty sure _he_ thinks he's the prettiest."

He frowned. "You always deflect a compliment with joke. Did you realize that?"

"Deflecting compliments with a joke is one of my Super Powers."

"There you go again."

She gave him a small, sheepish smile and turned toward the mirror with her lipstick. She could see him over her shoulder frowning, hands on hips.

"What did you do for lunch today, Cavanaugh?"

"Oh, you know." She shrugged lightly. "Grabbed a sandwich. Worked at my desk."

He paced in a small circle before speaking again. "I stopped by your office around noon. They said you'd headed over to the precinct for the day."

She wheeled around, her mouth agape. "Are you _spying_ on me?"

"You don't have to lie to me, Jordan."

"And _you_ don't have to sneak around!" She turned back to the mirror with her lipstick, but her hand was shaking, part with anger, part with the shame of being caught.

"I don't need to ask. Woody Hoyt, right?"

"It was just lunch, J.D. We're working on a big case that's coming to trial in January. We just had some files to go through, that's all. It was strictly professional."

"Was it?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I _know_." She held her hands up in surrender. "'Love is like malaria.' So you've said. But it was _just lunch_."

"Then why lie?"

She sighed wearily. "Because...I knew you'd react like this"

He watched her still, but she avoided his gaze. "I just wish you didn't have to see so much of him."

She turned from the mirror and slid her arms around his solid frame. "Woody and I are bound to be thrown together, given our jobs. But I'm with _you_. _You_. Just where I want to be." She gave him a long, soft kiss as if for proof and then nuzzled in under his chin.

Finally, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "What do you say we get away this week?" she said, looking back up into his face. "I've got a light caseload right now, and things won't start to heat up with the trial for another couple of weeks. We could take a little Christmas break somewhere."

"Or.." He laid a trail of kisses along her shoulder. "We could just stay here all week. Spend some time together...curl up in bed..."

"You read my mind."

He gave her a sly grin and pulled teasingly at one of her spaghetti straps. "We don't _really_ need to be on time for this thing, do we?"

"What? And miss the open bar?" She kissed him playfully. "Think of it as something to look forward to later tonight."

He laughed and jangled his car keys. "Guess I'm the designated driver."

XXXXX

They drove on through the streets. Boston was illuminated, it seemed, with thousands of white fairy lights draped across every available surface. She looked out the window as J.D. sat silently next to her. It was a comfortable silence, she told herself. Everything was fine. She reached over once and squeezed his free hand reassuringly.

_Woody._

The thought of him sprang into her brain. It _was_ strictly professional, wasn't it? They had sat there at his desk that afternoon, sharing a sandwich, plodding through a stack of paperwork for the upcoming trial, avoiding eye contact.

"This is nice." she finally said quietly.

Woody looked up at her and blinked. "What's nice?"

"This." She motioned between the two of them. "Just working. No..._weirdness._" It wasn't the word she had wanted, and she cringed. He frowned and cocked his head. "I mean..." Her jawed pumped in a futile attempt to find the words. Finally, she gave up and dropped her eyes back onto the file.

"Sure. I guess," he said, and they lapsed into another silence.

But it _was_ nice. Nothing more. They had been friends, the best of friends. Maybe they had missed their opportunity to be more than that, but there was no reason they couldn't work together as colleagues.

It didn't matter that a little shiver had gone down her spine when he had slid into the van next to her and his shoulder pressed against hers on the ride out the Mass Pike the week before. It didn't matter to her that she felt a strange, unidentifiable longing when he leaned across the desk that afternoon to pass her a file, and she was overwhelmed by his clean, familiar scent. They were just friends. _Co-workers._

She had fallen into a blue mood by the time they reached the party. Maybe it was the grey, bitter cold that had settled over Boston, or the stress of the holidays. Or perhaps it was something else.

"You okay, Cavanaugh?" J.D. asked as they stood in the doorway of the restaurant, and he slipped his hand into hers.

"Yeah, fine." She flashed him a smile and they stepped down into the party. They were all there, all of her morgue family and invited guests. Rene Walcott had made her usual appearance and stood cool and elegant by the bar. There were some detectives, some ADAs. Jeffrey Brandau mooned over Lily while Matt Seely brooded in the corner.

She downed her first drink quickly and gripped J.D.'s hand, half-hoping Woody would come, half-fearing he might. She made light chit-chat and grabbed a glass of champagne as a waiter passed by with a tray. An hour passed, a few began to make early exits. Woody had not come, and she breathed a sigh that was a mix of relief and disappointment.

And then her eyes fell on the doorway at the figure who had just emerged from the icy December air. He scanned the room and ignored whoever had just come by and slapped him on the back with a drunken Christmas greeting. His eyes fell onto hers then, they locked for a moment. She could see the muscles around his jawline tighten, then his eyes flitted away.

"Well, if it isn't Encyclopedia Brown," muttered J.D.

"We can go. Let's just go." She tightened her grip on his hand.

"No, no. It's all right. I'm..._cool with it_, as you Americans say," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "Besides. I want to drive him mad with jealousy knowing _I'm_ the one who gets to take you out of that dress tonight." He smiled at her. It was meant to be a joke, but the corners of her mouth pulled down into a frown. "_Kidding._ I'm kidding, Cavanaugh. We're all grown-ups. Let's just have a good time, shall we?"

She nodded and let herself smile. "Speaking of a good time...how about another drink?" She held up her empty glass.

He looked at her and then over at Woody, who had settled by the bar. "Sure..." he said uneasily, and took her glass.

She watched him edge his way around the crowded room slowly. One of the new ADAs grabbed her and nearly knocked her over with his boozy breath in a ridiculous attempt to hit on her. She motioned over his head for J.D.'s attention, but he was still fighting his way through the crowd.

Someone was behind the lawyer, then, and gently ushered him out of the way. The

young man wobbled off in the opposite direction and tried his line on one of the pretty interns.

"Merry Christmas, Jordan." He stood with his hands jammed nervously in his pockets.

"Woody!" She feigned surprise, as if she hadn't seen him when he came into the room. "I...didn't know you would be here."

"You look..._great._"

"Thank you," she said simply. "You, too. Nice tie."

He lifted his hand self-consciously to his chest and smiled. "Still with the ties."

"Well, it's an improvement over last year's battery-operated number where Rudolph's nose actually lit up."

They shared a small laugh and then lapsed into an awkward silence. He rocked back and forth on his heels.

"So, you and Pollack." He paused and licked his lips. "Looks pretty serious."

"Well. You know." She lifted her shoulders helplessly. "He's a good guy. You'd really like him, I think. If you got to know him, you'd..." She closed her mouth he looked away, and she realized she was sputtering.

"That's _great._ I'm _glad_ you're happy."

She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him. _Was_ he? Was he happy? His jaw had tightened again, and his forehead was creased. She replayed it in her mind. _That's _great_. I'm _glad_ you're happy_...had a sharpness crept into his voice?

She was still scanning his face when a voice broke through. "Look! Look up!"

She blinked herself back into the moment. Lily was pointing above their heads. "Look up!" She said again tipsily. "Mistletoe!"

Their eyes both dropped to the floor and Woody took a step backwards.

"No, no, no. You've got to kiss her! Those are the rules!" A small crowd of slightly inebriated morgue workers had gathered around.

"Come on! Kiss her!" someone shouted.

"I don't think they're going to let us get out of this," Woody whispered to her. His voice had grown rough.

"No..." she said, shaking her head once. Her heart raced.

He leaned forward and gave her a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek.

"Lame! _Lame!_ That wasn't a kiss! Should we make them do it again?" Lily turned around to the crowd, and they let out a loud cheer. She turned back around and crossed her arms against her chest. "I'd say it's a do-over!"

They stood there face-to-face, their eyes locked, each waiting for the other's response. The moment was agonizing, and then he leaned in slowly. Her eyes closed, and she raised her chin to him. She could feel the heat of his body, his breath against her cheek, as he turned his head slightly, and his lips pressed against hers. Every nerve stood on end, and then there was a kiss, soft and yearning.

The room seemed to stand still for a moment. They lost the noise of the crowd, the soft tinkling of the piano music. And then they stood back from one another. His eyes were soft. There was a brief flicker of emotion in his face, and then it was gone.

He backed away, not looking at her again and headed to the bar. She watched him slouching there, and then her eyes fell on J.D. He stood at the other end of the bar with her drink, watching with hurt in his eyes. She looked away guiltily.

She waited for him to cross the room again, and he silently handed her the glass with a disapproving look. "Reliving old times, eh?"

She rolled her eyes. "_That? _Come on! It was nothing! Just a stupid Christmas tradition. Every year someone gets caught under the mistletoe. Last year it was Walcott and Bug. It was hilarious." She laughed, but Pollack failed to see the humor. She drained her glass. Her mood had shifted. "God, I hate these things." She nodded her head towards the group of revelers and put the empty glass down on the table. "Let's get out of here."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." She slid her arm through the crook of his elbow. "I can't wait to get you home. _Alone_," she murmured in his ear.

He grinned down at her, and with his hand on her back, they hurried out the door.

She threw herself onto him with abandon when they crossed the threshold into her apartment. There was a tangle of limbs as they stumbled to the bedroom leaving a trail of shoes and coats across the floor. They tumbled onto the bed, still tearing at each other's clothes.

She straddled him, eyes closed, hair tumbling down her back, as their bodies moved together toward a heated crescendo. She cried out once and collapsed against him. They lay still and breathless for a moment, and he traced small circles on her back.

"You okay, Jordan?" he finally whispered. "You're shivering."

"Cold, that's all." She rolled over, and pulled the sheet up around her as he curled his body next to hers.

She lay there with fat tears in her eyes as he began to snore softly. No, it wasn't the cold air against her dampened skin that had made her shiver.

Pollack was right.

_Love is like malaria._

If she shut her eyes, she could still see him there under the mistletoe and feel her mouth yielding against his.

_It's never really gone, it just goes dormant. _

As she shivered there as if from fever, she knew all of her feelings for Woody were coursing back through her veins like an infection.

_Then, when you least expect it, it's back._

She closed her eyes as tears dampened her pillow.

It was back.


	2. Chapter 2

As morning dawned, she left him there in bed and slipped into the shower. She had tossed awake for much of the night before a restless sleep overtook her. She watched him now, lying gently curved against the spot where she had been. He could have no idea of the turmoil that roiled through her.

She had been having some doubts about her relationship with Pollack, it was true. It seemed a betrayal when he had written that story about Woody supposedly planting evidence, but she knew, rationally, he had only been doing his job. And no, he hadn't seen his own reflection when he looked into her eyes, but it was just some sentimental superstition, an old wives' tale.

And then there were these feelings for Woody. They had only gone dormant when he dismissed her from his hospital room those months before, but she was with J.D. now, and she would do what she had learned to do so well for most of her life: tamp tamp the unpleasant truths as far down inside her as she could.

A knocking came, and in her dazed state, she was only half aware of it. It came again, louder and more insistent. Pollack stirred and propped himself up on his elbows.

"Christ, who the hell is that on a Sunday morning?" he said, his voice rough with sleep.

"Ignore it. They'll go away."

As if on cue, a voice came from the other side of the door. "Jordan? It's me. It's important."

J.D. groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. "You've got to be joking," he muttered as Jordan moved uneasily across the floor.

She ignored him and opened the door. Woody stood there anxiously. He stretched out his hand and held out a piece of paper in a blue legal backer.

"What's this?" She rubbed at her eyes sleepily.

"The last the thing Judge Evans did before heading out for her Christmas vacation. Quite the bombshell. The prosecutor dropped off this signed order to me this morning. Take a look. The judge denied the continuance and granted the defendant's motion for change of venue."

He swept past her, uninvited, into the apartment. "Woody, wait.." she called out stop him.

"There's been too much pre-trial publicity in Boston," he went on. "So, the trial..." He stopped short as he suddenly noticed J.D. sitting there on the bed with the sheet draped across his bare middle. Woody's eyes quickly to darted to hers, and then fell to where the opening of her robe revealed the hollow between her breasts. His head dropped in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I..." he muttered. She could see a flush of crimson spread across his face.

"It's okay." Her hand flew up and held her robe shut, and she could feel the heat rise up her own cheeks. She motioned with her free hand to the order. "What's going on?"

"So..." He started again awkwardly. "The trial's been sent to Springfield. The new judge wants the whole thing wrapped up by Christmas. He doesn't want to hold the jury over the holiday."

"Wait. I don't get it." She shook her head groggily.

"The jury has already been impanelled." He said with force. "Opening arguments start tomorrow morning. We're going to have be prepared to testify at any time after that."

"Which means..."

"Which means pack your bag. We're going to Springfield."

XXXXXXXX

She dashed around the apartment hastily packing a week's worth of clothes into her suitcase while J.D. and Woody glowered at each other from across the room.

"Nice tattoo." Woody finally said with a trace of a smirk.

J.D. glanced down at his bicep. "Thanks, mate," he said with faux geniality. "You have any tattoos?"

Woody shook his head. "Nah..."

"What's the matter? Afraid of a little pain?"

"Try getting shot in the gut. _That's _pain." He pulled himself up to his full height.

Pollack laughed but took a few swaggering steps forward. "Why do you cops think someone has to get shot at to be a real man?"

"Well, you know...some people fight crime, some people can only write about it."

"The pen is mightier than the sword. And you know what they say. Men who carry big guns are merely compensating for a small..."

"Okay! Okay!" Jordan interrupted. "As much as I'm enjoying this display of witty repartee, it's time to go." She zipped her suitcase up for emphasis.

Woody headed for the door. "The DA's office booked us rooms at the Holiday Inn in Springfield. You can follow me, if you want."

"My car's still in the shop..."

"You can ride with me, then." Woody offered after a beat.

"No, I'll drive her." Pollack slipped a protective arm around her waist.

Jordan turned to him. He was glaring at Woody, and his eyes were narrow and dark. "It's okay, J.D."

He drew her back into the room. "I'm coming with you, Jordan," he said in a harsh whisper.

"It'll be fine. Besides, I know you've got that big City Hall story you're trying to break. Stay here. I'll be back by the end of the week. It'll be _fine_."

"My girlfriend's about to head off to the Springfield Holiday Inn with her ex-boyfriend the week before Christmas. The week that we were supposed to spend together. How am I supposed to feel?" he hissed. Jordan looked over at Woody, who quickly averted his glance and pretended not to hear.

She waited until Woody had headed back to the door to speak. "Pollack, it's _work_. That's it. Our relationship is purely professional."

"All right. All right." He shrugged in exasperation and plodded back into the bedroom. "I'll just stay here and make the _bed_," he called out loud enough for Woody's hearing. "Mind you don't step on the clothes on your way out."

She stood between them with her suitcase gripped in on hand while the two men looked daggers at one another, sizing each other up like two rams about to charge.

She hesitated for a moment. She should send Woody on. She should go with Pollack and spend the week holed up in the hotel on the D.A.'s dime, waiting for her turn to testify.

"I'll call you when I get in, J.D.," she murmured.

Woody let Jordan walk past, and she gave Pollack a weak smile over her shoulder before closing the door of her apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

_I blew it...I blew it...I blew it..._

She repeated it over and over in her mind in time with the rhythmic spin of the wheels against the highway. She leaned her head back and shut her eyes.

_I should have gone with Pollack. Why didn't I go with Pollack?_

She glanced over at Woody, and he seemed lost in his own thoughts. This was a mistake. You can't fall in love all over again from one stupid little kiss under the mistletoe, can you?

But that was just it. She hadn't fallen in love all over again. She had never really fallen out of it.

Pollack was smart, handsome, sexy. He had been more than patient with her trust issues and personality quirks. There was only one problem: she didn't love him.

She had warned him that she would run someday. He said he understood, but she knew from the look of hurt in his eyes when she had kissed Woody, that he didn't. She was going to hurt him. It was inevitable. And for what? For loving a man who no longer loved her? It was futile.

Despite everything that had happened in the last few months, she knew undeniably that she loved Woody, and he didn't love her. The situation was intolerable.

"Trouble in paradise, huh?"

She looked over at him as he drove on. "What?"

"Back there. You and Clark Kent," he said. She mumbled something in response and turned back towards the window. "If you ask me, he's got some control issues."

She whipped her head back around to him. "You don't _get _ to have an opinion about my personal life."

She was surprised by the anger in her own voice. He looked over at her, startled. His mouth fell open, and he started to speak but choked on the words. She held his stare, until he clamped his mouth shut and turned back to the road.

XXXX

They arrived at the hotel some time later and checked in, having barely said a word to each other on the drive out. The hotel was almost deserted except for a few traveling salesmen types. Not too many people choose to spend their Christmas at the Springfield Holiday Inn.

They spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in a meeting room with the various witnesses and members of the prosecution team, going over testimony, reports and exhibits. It was long past dark when the lead prosecutor finally dismissed them all, and Jordan realized she hadn't eaten since grabbing a cruller at some gas station along the way.

Everyone was streaming wearily out of the room, and Woody walked ahead of her, stifling a yawn.

"Hey, Woody? You hungry?"

He blinked as if hadn't given it any thought. "Yeah, I guess so."

There was an awkward silence. She shuffled her feet like an 8th grader at a school dance. "You...want to get something to eat?"

His face brightened. "Sure..._sure._ But I think the kitchen's closed for the night. There's a KFC across the street, though."

"KFC it is. Let me run upstairs and get my coat."

"No, I've got mine here. I'll just go through the drive-thru and..." he paused for a moment "bring it back to your room?"

The two of them. Alone in her hotel room. A small shudder passed through her. "Sounds like a plan."

He smiled unevenly and stumbled out of the lounge.

XXXXXX

"This stuff'll kill you," she said biting into another drumstick. "Believe me. I've seen the proof first hand."

Woody licked at his fingers. "But what a way to go."

She sat Indian-style on her bed with him sitting at the desk opposite her. He had picked up a bucket and a six-pack, and between bites of the greasy chicken, she washed it all down with a cold beer. She had been shaking earlier from hunger, but she felt contentedly full now -- warm and drowsy from the food and drink.

"So, just what _are _the eleven herbs and spices in KFC chicken?" He leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk.

"I don't know. Sage? Thyme maybe?"

"Black pepper. Does that count as a spice? What's the difference between a spice and an herb, anyway?"

"Herbs are the leaves of the plant, spices are the ground seed or bark of the plant," she said authoritatively.

"Really? But what's salt, then? I mean, clearly it's one of the eleven herbs and spices, right? But it's not a plant. So, what is it?"

"I don't know." She pondered the deep mystery of KFC. "A mineral, I guess. Toss me a biscuit, would you?"

He obliged, and she stretched her legs out in front of her and pressed herself against the headboard as she watched him there for a moment. It was times like this that she saw the old Woody, _her_ Woody, her farm boy, and he wasn't so different after all. He wasn't the hardened, driven cop he had become since the shooting. She ached for him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and whisper that it would be all right.

She wondered, herself, if it would be. He had changed so much these last few months so that she barely recognized him at times. It was all a coping mechanism to deny his own frailties, she knew, but she worried about him, especially in the face of this trial.

The defendant was a remorseless punk kid who botched a robbery at a diner earlier that year. He ended up shooting several customers, including a cop who was enjoying his breakfast at the counter before starting his shift. Woody had been one of the first on the scene, and the young officer had died in his arms.

It was only a few weeks ago that another cop, Officer Spalding, had died of gunshot wound while Woody held his hand and begged him to hang on. She had seen the cracks that had formed in the facade he had built for himself, and she wondered what recounting Officer Kelly's death would do to him.

He looked up at her then, and he seemed to sense her concern. He eased forward in his chair then and stood. "Well, I guess I'd better..."

She threw her legs off the bed and rose. "Yeah, we've got an early start tomorrow."

He shuffled uneasily toward the door and reached out for the door handle and then turned. "Jordan...I just wanted to say I'm sorry. You know...for that crack this morning about Clark Kent and control issues."

Her heart flipped a little. "It's okay, Woody." There voices both had dropped to rough whispers.

"It's just..." He searched the room with his eyes. He went on, his voice strained. "When I see you with him...like that. I always thought that would be _me_."

Her eyes widened, and she let out a small noise of surprise at his painful honesty. She almost reached out for him, touched his hand. But then his eyes darkened.

"But that's never going to happen."

There was a coolness in his voice. He stood there, eyes on hers, challenging her to say something. She felt as if the breath had been sucked from her, and she could only manage a slight, "Oh..."

"Well. Good night, Jordan."

He was gone, then: out the door and across the hall to his own room. She stood there, staring at the space where he had been for a long moment before sinking back onto the bed into a numbed haze.

It was some time later-- she had lost track of all time -- when a tentative knocking came at the door. She had to strain to hear it, and waited for it to come again.

She hoped, believed on some level, that Woody would return and tell her in a rush of words that he had been all wrong. It was all a lie -- he loved her completely. She jumped from the bed and threw open the door.

It was Pollack, standing there with a bottle of wine held aloft. He had a suitcase at his feet. "Surprise..."

"J.D..."

"If she can't go on holiday, we'll bring the holiday to her." He stepped into her room enthusiastically and grabbed her around the waist for a kiss.

"I thought you were working on that City Hall corruption story."

He waved his hand dismissively. "The lead didn't pan out. All smoke, no fire." He was opening the wine bottle and pouring them out two glasses in the little plastic hotel cups. "Are you surprised to see me?" He looked up eagerly and passed her a drink.

"Yeah, I'm surprised all right."

His face fell. "But not good surprised."

She shrugged helplessly. "I just didn't know you were coming, that's all."

"I'm sorry, Jordan. I know you've got a lot to think about with this trial. Look, I'll go. I should've called first." He reached out for suitcase.

"No, no, no. You're here. Stay." She took his hands in her own. "Just no more surprises, okay?"

"Deal." He kissed her quickly.

"I hate to be a partypooper, but it's late, and I'm beat. I think I'm going to turn in. Make yourself at home. A nice long shower, maybe? "

"Good idea." He headed toward the bathroom.

"Pollack? I'm glad you're here. Really." She smiled lightly. He smiled back and closed the bathroom door.

She quickly snapped off the light and pretended to be asleep a few minutes later when Pollack came in from the shower and slipped into bed beside her.

XXXXXX

Woody stood in the hallway outside the door with his curled fist held up. His heart skittered. What was he doing out here? And what would he say to her? How would he explain that he was back here at her door? He only knew he wanted to see her, _had_ to see her before he went to sleep.

He drew his hand back, ready to knock, when he heard muffled voices from inside. He frowned. It wasn't the TV. He leaned in, ear against the door. He could hear Jordan, but there was someone else. A male voice. It was one of the ADAs, surely. He shut his eyes and strained to hear. He heard Jordan's voice again, and then the man's voice. An Australian accent. _Pollack._

He took a step away, and his arm dropped limply to his side. She was with Pollack, and he seemed more unsure than ever why he had ended up on her doorstep.

He turned finally and went back into his room, shutting the door quietly behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

They hit the ground running the next morning, and for Jordan, it was relief. There was little time to think about the mess her love life had become in the last 24 hours. She and JD just had time to dress and get to court before opening statements.

There was a last minute prep with the second chair prosecutor as they sat in the hallway before the judge convened court. She nodded in passing as Woody came into the courthouse. He looked away quickly and hurried past her.

She found her seat next to JD in the gallery and waited for the lead prosecutor to begin. She had been through this hundreds of times, testified at countless murder trials, but she always found herself riveted. Her heart raced as the lead prosecutor began her opening. She was a protogee of Walcott's, and she seemed a slightly younger blonde version of the DA.

She was absolutely in control with her cool demeanor and patrician bearing. The jury hung on her every word. That was a good sign. The defense attorney next. Jordan knew him well. He was a typical defense attorney, trying to project an eccentric persona with his salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a ponytail, but he was a shark in a shabby suit.

"The prosecution calls Detective Woody Hoyt."

Jordan's eyes cut over to where Woody was sitting. He rose and buttoned his suit coat. She knew he, too, had done this countless times, but his face had gone ashen and he seemed slightly uneasy as he made his way to the witness stand to be sworn in. She supposed that even the most seasoned detectives sometimes got stage fright.

He was unusually quiet and had to be asked by the judge to speak up on several occasions. Jordan frowned. Something was wrong. This wasn't like Woody. Under the fluorescent lights, she could see beads of sweat had popped out on his forehead.

"And then what did you see, Detective Hoyt?"

Woody looked up and blinked as if he hadn't heard. "I'm sorry?"

"I asked you what you saw next, detective," the ADA asked with a trace of annoyance in her voice.

"I...entered the diner." Jordan watched as he blotted at his face with the back of his sleeve.

"What did you see?"

He looked over at a blank wall as if picturing the scene there. "I saw...Officer Kelly."

"I'm sorry, I don't think the jury heard that, Det. Hoyt."

"Do you need a drink of water?" the judge asked. Woody nodded and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the witness stand. His hands were shaking.

"How would you describe the state was in?"

He cut his glance over to the prosecutor. His face was twisted into a bitter smile. "He was dying. In a pool of his own blood."

"Objection. Calls for a conclusion," the defense attorney interjected.

"Well, he wasn't dying in a pool of someone else's blood, that's for sure," Woody spat before the judge had an opportunity to rule.

"Overruled. That's enough, detective."

The ADA pursed her lips and shot him a hard look. "Did Officer Kelly say anything to you?"

Woody's head fell. Jordan leaned forward on her bench. Something was wrong. He looked up again, and his face was a stony mask. "He said he was dying. He said for me to call his fiancee. He wanted to talk to her before he died." Woody looked over at the defendant. "He was supposed to get married the next week."

The defendant only shrugged and slouched down in his seat.

Woody gripped the front of the stand. "Are you _smiling_? What are you _smiling _at?"

"Your Honor, please direct the witness not to address my client!" The defense attorney rose to his feet.

"A cop is _dead_ because of you!" Woody went on. He raised his finger accusingly. "Wipe that smile off your face, you son of a bitch."

"Order! Order!" The judge lowered his gavel.

"Detective! That's enough!"

"Wipe that smile off your face!" Woody had risen in his seat. His voice boiled over with rage.

"Sit down immediately, detective, or I'll hold you in contempt!"

"Your Honor! The defense requests a recess!"

"Granted! Bailiffs, please clear the courtroom! We'll re-convene tomorrow morning at 8AM. Counsel, in my chambers. _Now._"

One of the bailiffs put a restraining hand on Woody's arm as the jury dutifully filed out of the courtroom. There was a flurry of activity. The defendant was led away as Woody stared him down threateningly.

Onlookers milled around in confusion. Jordan watched as the prosecutor blocked Woody's path as he tried to skulk out of the courtroom.

"If I were the judge and the defense asked for a mistrial right now, I'd grant it!" she hissed and then stormed past into the judge's chambers.

Woody stood looking miserable and lost. Jordan rose from the bench and made an instinctive move toward him. She felt J.D. clap his hand on her wrist. "Leave it alone, Jordan. He's not your concern anymore."

She watched him there, standing still amid the whirl around him. J.D. still had her arm as she stumbled behind him through the doors and outside into the cold air.

XXXXXXX

She was distracted for the rest of the evening. There was an unspoken understanding, she knew, between her and J.D. She would not mention Woody. A storm was threatening, so they ate in the hotel's restaurant, a typically loud sports bar and grill. They were mostly silent, talking about this or that, but she couldn't help but worry about Woody.

Each time someone would breeze into the restaurant, she would crane her neck to see, hoping it would be him. When it wasn't, she would drop her head back down to her plate, but she could see Pollack was looking at her disapprovingly.

She feigned exhaustion once again as they turned in for bed. He seemed to accept that, and she curled in next to him with his arms around her. She supposed she should feel safe and secure, but she only felt smothered.

After he had drifted off, she slipped out of bed and dressed hurriedly. Sleep would elude her, anyway, until she knew Woody was all right. She tiptoed across the hall to his room, but there was no answer.

She would find him. It was what she would do for any friend in need, she told herself. She waited impatiently for the elevator and then hurried through the lobby past the bored night desk clerk.

He was there, in the emptied bar at one of the chairs next to the window. It had been to softly snow, and he sat with his face turned towards the glass.

She crossed quietly and stood at the table next to him. He said nothing.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

"I'm fine, Jordan. Go back to Pollack."

She stood for a moment. "Woody, I..."

"_Go,_ Jordan. Just _go._"

She hesitated. His face was resolute. She backed away and turned toward the door. When he spoke, his voice was small and broken.

"He died in my arms. Officer Kelly."

She turned and knelt down beside him. "I know."

"I didn't understand, then. There was a part of me, even though it happened to my dad, too, I thought he should've been more careful. If he'd just been paying better attention, it wouldn't have happened. He could have gotten the bastard before the bastard got him. Then it happened to _me_, Jordan."

She reached out for his hand in silent understanding.

"And then I saw Spalding die. He died in my arms, with that _look_ on his face. The look that says you know you're dying, and you're never going to see your kid graduate from high school, and you're never going to walk your daughter down the aisle. All of a sudden, I knew...that could've been me. Why _wasn't_ it me? It was all I could do to keep it together then. And when I saw that _punk_ in court today with that smirk on his face...I lost it." He had begun to cry as softly and silently as the snow outside.

She reached up and took his face in her hands.

"You're all right, Woody. You're safe," she said gently.

He looked down at her, her face shining with compassion, soft tears reflecting his own. He reached up and stroked her face with his fingertips. Her heart raced, knowing instinctively what the next moment would hold.

As if that moment at the party was replaying itself, he leaned in, his lips parted slightly. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she could feel him inch ever closer.

And then there was a flicker of a shadow, the sense of motion in the room. Her eyes snapped open, and they both froze, framing the other's face in hands.

It was Pollack, standing in the door to the restaurant. He turned quickly on his heel and headed back for the elevator.

She was immobile for a moment. Woody's hands finally dropped, and she scrambled to her feet.

"Pollack, wait!" she called after him.

She could see Woody's reflection in the long glass window by the bar. He sat with his hands between his knees and his head hung in despair.


	5. Chapter 5

She took the stairs instead of the elevator. She needed the extra minutes to sort through what had just happened and try to find a way to explain it to Pollack. Perhaps there was no explaining. They had almost kissed, but it was out of need and fear, not love. No, not love. Woody had made that all too clear, and more than once.

Still, she wondered for a fleeting moment what might have happened if Pollack hadn't interrupted them.

Pollack was waiting for her when she reached the room, standing with hands on hips. She set her room key resignedly on the bedside table and waited for the onslaught of accusations.

"Well? Would you mind telling me what that was about?"

She sighed. "I was helping a friend. His emotions were raw, and he got carried away. It didn't mean anything." She couldn't resist adding sharply, "I didn't know you'd be lurking in the doorway."

"Thank goodness I was."

"And why _were_ you down there, anyway?"

"I woke up, and you were gone. I was worried."

She shook her head and faced him head on. "No, you weren't. You just wanted to sneak around." She felt her emotions turn from shame to anger at Pollack for once again keeping tabs on her. "Why did you really come here? Was it to spend time with me or to spy on me? Are you _that_ jealous?"

"Jealous? God knows you've given me every reason to be jealous, Jordan. Every time there's a crisis, you run to _him_. Every time he's in trouble, which seems to be every other day, you fly to his side to defend him. Your car breaks down, who do you call? No, not your boyfriend. You call the guy who _dumped_ you."

She drew in her breath suddenly and felt as if she had been slapped. "What did you say?"

He looked at her calmly. "All this time I was threatened because I thought the two of you had actually had a relationship. But you didn't even have that. You've never even so much as gone out on a real date, have you?" There was nothing cruel in his voice. He was simply an investigative reporter reciting the cold facts. "I did some checking around. Turns out you and the boy detective have had some kind of on-and-off mating ritual for _years._"

The betrayal stung. She fought back tears.

"Then he gets shot and throws you out of his hospital room, and you've barely spoken since."

"How could you spy on me like that? How could you? Don't you trust me?"

"The question is why _should _I trust you? You lie about where you've been, you make excuses, you go out of your way to see him, and every time I turn the corner you're in his arms. You love him, Jordan. You can lie to me and every one else all you want, but surely you can't lie to yourself. You love him. Don't you?"

She stood looking up at him in the thick silence. Her heart pounded. He was angry, and he had reason to be. She knew she could lie to him, reassure him once again that she didn't have feelings for Woody. She could put this off for weeks, months. But she knew somehow that it was inevitable. She nodded her head slowly and said, "Yes."

His face did not change, as if what she had said held no surprise for him. She thought she would feel shame and regret when this moment finally came, but instead she felt nothing but a flood of relief.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. "I'm going to do you a favor, Jordan. I'm leaving."

She struggled for words. "Yes, sure...that's maybe for the best. We probably need some time apart."

"You don't understand, Jordan. I'm _leaving_. I'm going back to Boston to your apartment to get my things. I'll leave the key when I go."

"Pollack, wait. We should talk."

He had pulled his suitcase from the closet and was hastily throwing his things in.

"There's nothing to talk about, Cavanaugh," he said wearily.

She knew, of course, that he was right. She sat on the edge of the bed, saying nothing while he finished his packing.

"Well," he said with finality. "Goodbye, Cavanaugh."

She rose and stood awkwardly in front of him. "I'm...sorry, J.D." It was all she could think to say.

"You told me you would run someday. I just didn't think it would be back to Woody." Then he shook his head. "No, that's wrong. I knew from the beginning I didn't stand a chance. So, here you are again. You and Woody dancing circles around each other. Is this what you really want?"

He looked at her sadly, and she found she could not respond. Without another word, he was gone.

XXXXX

The initial relief she had felt faded quickly . She tried to sleep but couldn't. She wandered around the room and stared out the window for a long time, looking down into the parking lot. The light snow had begun to cover the space where J.D.'s car had been.

She curled up on the bed finally and turned on the TV, anything to distract her. She flipped through the channels until she came across a familiar scene in black-in-white: people dancing the Charleston in a high school gymnasium while the floor opened up beneath them to reveal a swimming pool.

She smiled to herself. _Ir's a Wonderful Life._ She hugged her knees to her chest and sat silently watching as the movie unfolded. There was Bert the Cop and Ernie the Cabbie crooning to George and Mary under their bedroom window, George plunging into the river to save Clarence, and Zuzu's crushed petals, all of the images blurred by the puddle of tears in her eyes.

There was a small noise at the door. She thought it was J.D. for a moment, but no. His car was gone. She rose and looked through the peephole. Woody was standing there, pacing nervously in front of her door. She opened the door a crack and let him speak first.

"Hi..." he began in a hesitant voice. "I wanted to apologize. I thought I should tell you that I..." He stopped then and frowned. "Jordan, what's wrong? Are you all right?"

She opened the door slightly so he could see inside to where George Bailey was joyously discovering that his lip was still bleeding. "Fine, I was just..." She motioned to the TV.

His mouth turned up into a bashful half-smile. "Oh, yeah...I love this movie. It always gets me choked up, too." He took a tentative step past her and craned his neck around the door. "I just wanted to try and patch things up. Where's Pollack?"

"He's gone. Back to Boston."

Woody's eyes widened slightly. "Oh...I'm sorry, Jordan. I shouldn't have done that...downstairs. It was wrong. I never meant to cause any problems between you two."

She shrugged. "It's okay, Woody. It was over before then."

"Oh," was all he said. She looked over at him, and a small smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You bastard..." she said in an exhaled breath.

He cut his eyes over to hers. "What? _Me?_"

"Yes. This is what you wanted all along, wasn't it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I just hurt someone I cared about. Because of _you_."

"Hey, I apologized, Jordan. I'm sorry if I caused any problems with you and..._him._"

"No, you're not. You're not sorry. Under the mistletoe at the Christmas party, showing up at my door the next morning at 6AM, all that macho alpha-male crap with you and J.D? You couldn't _stand_ that I was with him, could you? You don't want me, but you don't want anyone else to have me, either. Is that it? Well, you got your Christmas wish, Woody. Pollack's gone. Happy?"

"This is crap, Jordan," He turned to head towards the door, but she cut him off. She was not finished. She had felt many emotions toward Woody in these last months, but she had never allowed herself to feel anger, and it all came boiling to the surface.

"So, was that part of your plan downstairs, Woody? Were you going to kiss me?"

"_Stop_, Jordan." He tried to turn away from her, but she blocked his path.

"Just how far were you going let it go before you told me it was all a mistake? Were you going to whisper sweet nothings, sweep me off to your bed, and then throw me out? Is that how you get your kicks these days?"

"You don't know what you're talking about..."

"What's the big turn-on? Do you just like seeing me miserable? Do you hate me that much?"

And then she stopped, feeling as if the breath had been sucked out of her. It was dizzying. She felt herself stumble backwards, and her hands flew out to steady herself. A small laugh escaped from her lips, and Pollack's words rang in her ears.

_Love is like malaria..._

"I'm an idiot," she said half to herself. Woody cocked his head. "I can't believe I didn't figure it out..."

"Figure what out?" he said, but his voice shook like someone who had just been discovered.

"All this time, I thought you hated me. You threw me out of your life, and I really thought you _hated_ me. How could you let someone you love walk out of your life like that?"

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about, Jordan."

"You _love_ me. And that's why you couldn't stand to see me with Pollack. Because you still _love_ me."

"That's bullshit, Jordan." He strode past her and stood with his hand on the doorknob. She followed him, not letting him go so easily.

"You _do_! You've never stopped. I meant all those things I said to you in the hospital, Woody. Every last word. I've been honest with you. Unlike you, I haven't been lying for the past six months."

He whipped around to face her then, and his face twisted with rage. The words erupted out of him. "I _don't_ love you, Jordan! Do you hear me? I _don't_!"He took her shoulders in his hands and shook her. "I don't love you. And we're not going to live happily ever after, so get it out of your head. It's not going to happen. Not now, not ever. Do you hear me? I don't love you. I. Don't. Love. You."

She had begun to cry again at the volcanic force of his anger. "Woody, stop..." she managed to choke out.

"I don't love you. I don't." He gripped her arms and shook her again. "I don't!" And then his face softened. One hand flew up to her cheek and brushed at her tears. "Oh, Jesus, Jordan..." he whispered, and he covered her face with kisses. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. God, I love you so much." He folded her into his arms with her head on his chest. "I love you, Jordan. I love you."

She felt him ease her onto the bed. He spooned himself around her as her tears subsided.

"Why? Why did you throw me out of your life?" she finally asked quietly.

He paused before he spoke, still stroking her hair. "It took me almost dying for you to say you loved me. I kept thinking what I'd have to do to top that. Would it take a crisis to bring you back every time you lost interest?"

She rolled over onto her side and looked up into his eyes. "I'm Irish stubborn. You of all people should know that once I make up my mind, there's no changing it."

He moved a damp strand of hair from her cheek. "I know," was all he said for a long while.

Drained of all emotion, she had begun to feel drowsy. He was humming softly, and she mumbled something to him. She was aware that he had turned off the TV, and then she heard the thump of his shoes as they dropped to the floor. He was next to her then, pulling the comforter around her as she drifted off. The last thing she remembered was his arms slipping around her and his soft, whispered, "I love you."


End file.
